


the same songs with the same old rhymes

by palateens



Series: Grand Larsony [1]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Future Fic, M/M, Multi, Polyamory Negotiations, Post-Break Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-10-12 14:39:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10493064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palateens/pseuds/palateens
Summary: He hands her tea in the duckling mug he forgot to mail her last Christmas. He’d found it in a novelty shop in Ocean City late in August. Larissa inhales the steam harder than a toke after a long week. Justin wonders if it’s too hot; if the feeling of burning her tongue was still something that satisfied her sour moods.ORThe one where Lardo shows up on Ransom's door step looking for something.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For Ransom Week
> 
> Prompt: "In the open air..."

Justin Oluransi wasn’t the greatest with surprises. He was a plan man. Everything in his life could be narrowed down to a cleverly crafted eight-point plan. He expected his day to go quite normally: wake up at five; go for a run with Adam; have breakfast with Adam; do pre-round for the patients he’s following; do round with the attending; write up progress notes and orders; get lunch; go to lecture; follow up on labs; finish notes from earlier; study and finish orders; go home and have a nice relaxing dinner with Adam; watch _Brooklyn 99_ until they both decide that they’re tired and go to sleep.

 

He hadn’t planned on coming home to find Larissa Duan sitting in front of his apartment. She’s huddled in on herself, knees hiding her face. But her signature purple beanie and the duck keychain attached to her bag give her away.

 

“Lardo?” He says hesitantly. Frankly, he’s a little worried she’s a figment of his imagination (or worse, dead).

 

Larissa sniffles, unfolding her legs. Her eyes won’t meet his; they’re fixated on the rips in her jeans. Her eyes are listless. It occurs to Ransom that it’s November. Although Baltimore hasn’t seen its first big snow of the season, the wind is still brutal and unrelenting.  He debates picking her up himself, but remembers that Lardo hates being manhandled without permission.

 

“Do you want to come inside?” Justin flinches at how condescending his tone is. How mechanical and pseudo-empathetic it’s become. Like Larissa’s his patient instead of one of his best friends. She _was_ one of his best friends.

 

Lardo doesn’t seem bothered, however. She rises with a graceful dexterity that reminds Justin of the afternoons when she and Eric would see who could balance more random shit on themselves until they caved (Bitty won most of the time).  As Justin unlocks the door, he wonders how Larissa found them (and when had hockey nicknames slipped off his lips like a tainted memory).

 

She slips in quietly behind him. He murmurs something about tea; she nods hastily, dropping her bag next to the couch. It’s green like the one back at the Haus. Adam had been sentimental when they found it on Craigslist.

 

“Make yourself comfortable,” he calls out as he turns on the stove.

 

As he fills up the kettle with water, Justin contemplates texting Adam. He doesn’t have a game until tomorrow, so he should be on his way back anyhow. It wasn’t easy figuring out where to settle down. Baltimore had been something of a compromise. The commute was a bitch for Holster, but he had an apartment in Arlington for nights when the drive was too much or a roadie was set to leave early. They were both happy with the careers they’d chosen. They were in love. If Adam scored a puck bunny every now and then, it was good their foreplay for later.

 

He doesn’t have the slightest idea why Larissa’s here. It’s been three years since they graduated. Everyone tried to keep up the first year, when Bitty was captain and the Frogs were juniors. Ransom and Holster had hardly heard from any of them in two years. There was a text in the group chat every now and then. But life went on, and the earth kept spinning.

 

Justin doesn’t realize that he’s staring out into space (and generally in Lardo’s direction) until he finds her staring back at him. Her scowl is hardened yet exhausted. As if she’s lost all the vigor and fight he used to love about her. He maintains eye contact longer than he assumes is polite. Ultimately, Larissa caves, going back to scrolling her phone as she curls more in on herself on the couch.

 

The kettle shrieks behind Justin. He scours the cupboard for the Jasmine tea mix he remembers Lardo sending as an apartment warming present (back when they’d first moved here, but that was two places ago). He puts that and the water into an infuser, letting it sit while he goes to attend to his house guest.

 

“We have a guest room around the corner,” he points out the general path. “There’s fresh towels in bathroom.”

 

She nods, taking her cue move her shit somewhere less obstructing. At least, that’s what Ransom imagines she narrates in her mind. Lardo had a way of making the simplest things visceral, more tangible. Pleasantries to her were vapid and insincere. Rules were meant to be broken, and scars were meant to be molded, she told him once.

 

When she returns, her worn jeans and jacket have been replaced with black leggings and an oversized sweater (or maybe they were there before). Her beanie’s gone. Her undercut game is still strong. Only now the rest of her hair is gelled back like a business dude and it’s all periwinkle. It suits her. Anything that’s adventurous and abrasive, yet subtly feminine screams Lardo. He’s forgotten how easily she could take his breath away.

 

She’s looking around the apartment. Really looking now, inspecting every crevice and decoration. They’d gone on an HGTV watching spree right around graduation, so the space was mostly metal and reclaimed wood with random throw pillows they’ve collected at the flea market nearby.

 

“Nice place,” her voice is hoarse and distant. But Justin will take it as a sign of progress.

 

“Thanks, it could use more salmon but—” he shrugs simply.

 

Her laugh is a soft flit of light. It’s a brief spark in a moment that reminds Ransom of being eighteen and getting high for the first time.

 

“Tea’s ready,” he ignores how wet her eyes and how chipped her multicolored toenails look.

 

He signals her to follow him. She takes a seat at the closest barstool attached to the kitchen island. She sits crossed legged because it’s the only way she can be comfortable in a seat. My legs are fucking short and I hate dangling them like a fucking five-year-old, she complained when he asked on their third roadie freshman year.

 

He hands her tea in the duckling mug he forgot to mail her last Christmas. He’d found it in a novelty shop in Ocean City late in August. She accepts it with shaky hands. Larissa inhales the steam harder than a toke after a long week. She takes a sip. Justin briefly wonders if it’s too hot; if the feeling of burning her tongue was still something that satisfied her sour moods.

 

“You remembered,” Lardo exhales.

 

Whether she means the tea or the ducks, or even just how Justin knows (knew) better than to talk before Larissa was ready, he shakes his head. He doesn’t remember, at all. He wonders for a second if he even knows this person; if there’s anything left of a girl he met almost seven years ago to the day. And isn’t funny how time seems to run away when you essentialize everything down to a few key moments?

 

She shrugs. Justin can feel her disappointment as she sags forward. She gulps her tea faster than he thinks is probably safe. He reminds himself that she isn’t his patient. She isn’t even much of a friend. But if they weren’t friends, why did he let her in? Why did he accept that she would need to be here if she’d bothered to find them? Why was it only now occurring to him that she could be here for a night or two or forever? Why didn’t that bother him?

 

He walks around the island, standing in front of her. Justin doesn’t give any preamble as he holds open his arms for her. She looks him in the eyes. They shine brighter than the margarita shaped Christmas lights she bought their junior year. She looks grateful and fearful and so desperate for him to accept her. She looks vulnerable in a way he hasn’t seen since the first time he watched her heart get broken by some chick in her intro psych section. Her face falls into his chest, and her arms wind tightly around his waist. Her sobs are thick, loud, and so ugly. Justin cradles her head in one hand, wrapping her body protectively in the other. He inhales the scent of her new hair gel and the coconut oil she never stopped using and thinks “yea, this is Lardo”. 

 

Ransom zones out for a bit while she cries. He thinks he kisses her hair every now and then, but he chalks it off to shock. He thinks he feels her kiss his t-shirt. The thought brings him back to nights when they were young, dumb, and drunk. Before Bitty’s presence became permanent and Jack started making all these decisions for them. When emotions could be ignored and everything could be talked away. He remembers hands roaming and sweat dripping off bodies. He remembers thinking that the line between like and love was thin and grey. He remembers the way time stood still in the Haus. The way they could act so intensely within its walls, and be so platonic for the rest of the world. Like they were putting on a show. He remembers thinking there was no way they could keep that shit up. He was right.

 

They’re probably in each other’s arms for a good hour. He doesn’t bother to look up when Adam comes through the door, singing “honey, I’m home” for the millionth time. (It isn’t funny, but maybe it’s endearing in a way that reminds Ransom of how Holster chose _him_.) He can hear the way Adam’s gym bag thuds against the laminate floor. He comes up behind Larissa, enveloping them both in a hug. Lardo doesn’t protest about being squashed. Her sobs turn into hiccups that turn into silence.

 

Adam looks up, questions screaming loudly in his eyes. Justin does what he can to fight back a shrug. His eyes seem to imply the words he can’t say—his confusion and sorrow. Holster sighs, pushing Justin back a little bit to scoop up Lardo. She doesn’t put up a fight as Adam takes her to the bedroom. _Their_ bedroom, Justin thinks ruefully. Holster falls into bed. His body curls around Lardo like a shield. His gaze goes to Justin, pleading for him to go get answers. Ransom nods, shuffling out of the room.

 

He grabs his phone, thankful that he’d always been too lazy to update his favorites. He dials Shitty as he flops down on the couch. He groans a little too loudly, knowing there was no situation where he liked what he was going to be told.

 

Shitty picks up on the second ring. “Is this a butt dial? Because I swear to—”

 

“No, it’s me,” Justin grumbles. “It’s really me.”

 

“Oh,” Shitty sounds equal parts surprised and disappointed. “What’s up, brah?”

 

“Lardo,” he answers curtly.

 

No response comes from the other end. And then, “she called you?”

 

“She’s here, Shits,” Ransom sits up. He props his face up against his knuckles. “She’s here. Why?”

 

“Well fuck, man,” Shitty lets out a heavy sigh. “That’s probably her story to share.”

 

“Cut the crap, and just get to the chase,” Justin seethes.

 

“We broke up,” Shitty proclaims casually.

 

“What?”

 

Justin imagines the way Shitty nods and the look on his face when he remembers they’re not video chatting. “About a month ago, actually.”

 

“Ok, thanks, man,” he wants to cut this conversation short. He doesn’t trust himself not to erupt. It was probably a mutual breakup. But Shitty wasn’t the one despondent in Holster’s arms.

 

“No problem,” his tone pitches. Of course, there’s more. “You probably don’t know a lot about what’s been going on lately.”

 

“No shit,” Justin snaps. And maybe it’s not his place anymore. But it fucking matters when someone he cares about comes to him for help.

 

“Dude, relax,” he placates.  “You probably should know that Jack and Bits broke up.”

 

Well that’s news alright. “What?”

 

“Yeah but it’s ok, I think? They’re talking again.”

 

“That’s good,” Ransom mutters. Good to know he missed out on the majority of their breakup…and relationship.

 

Shits mumbles something quickly and Ransom thinks he can make out some names. His stomach twists and gnarls.

 

“Say that again,” he commands slowly, neutrally.

 

“I’m—uh—I’m dating Jack?”

 

“And who’s dating Bitty?” He prompts. Because he definitely heard an extra name being thrown in the mix.

 

“Kent?” He can feel the way Shitty flinches.

 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Ransom exhales.

 

“I guess it sounds crazy,” Shitty admits. “But you guys haven’t really been…around in a fucking long time. A lot’s changed.”

 

“Fair,” Justin submits. “Should I ask your side of the story?”

 

“I guess…communicating is fucking important and everything seemed good—and then it wasn’t.”

 

Ransom wishes Shitty could see he unimpressed glare. “That’s all you’re going to give me?”

 

“I don’t know what you want from me,” Shitty grunts. “A fucking testimony?”

 

“I guess after five years of friendship I just wanted to hear that whatever happened wasn’t your fault,” Ransom confesses. “Or that you’re sorry.”

 

“I am.” Shitty pauses before elaborating, “sorry, that is. I wish things easy to explain. Maybe she’ll get it better than me.”

 

“Alright,” Ransom clears his throat. “Tell Jack I said hi and, uh, I’m happy for you guys.”

 

“Thanks, brah,” he’d give anything to see the sad smirk adorning Shitty’s face right now.  He’s truly missed everything. “We’re really happy.”

 

He sighs after the other line goes dead. Justin dials the Chinese place on the corner and orders half the menu. Adam won’t be too upset, they hardly ever break his meal plan. Besides, it’s for a good cause. He heads back to the bedroom. Lardo’s using Holsters arms as a pillow, staring vacantly at the doorway until she realizes Justin’s looking right at her. Her lip quirks the tinniest bit. She came halfway down the coast and wants to pretend like everything isn’t wrong. He shakes his head. It’s still the same old Larissa, carrying the weight of her boys on her shoulders.

 

Sliding into bed, he scoots her closer to Adam, effectively making a Lardo sandwich.

 

“I’m not a fucking sausage,” she gripes. She levels him with a smirk that whispers ‘I know you.’

 

“Fried rice and duck?” Justin deflects.

 

“Swawesome,” she and Holster mumble.

 

Ransom hates the warmth that spreads through his chest. It’s been years since the last time they were in the same bed like this. It was even longer since the last time he felt like they were on the same page. His mind wanders back to those nights spent in Jack’s room, pretending that the future and cultural norms didn’t matter.

 

“Wanna talk?” he presses, because like it or not, Larissa had to tell them herself. She needed to admit that she wasn’t ok; that nothing that lead her to finding them was ok.

 

She flops onto her back, staring at the ceiling. Justin knows she’s counting every bump on the popcorn ceiling. Her nose scrunches. She always hated ceilings with more texture than the walls.

 

“Bits and Jack broke up,” she begins. Her voice pitches awkwardly. “Bits started dating Kent, and Jack couldn’t deal. Which I totally got. So, then there he was spending every goddamn moment of the day in our apartment.”

 

“Did he cheat on you,” Holster asks at a ridiculously high pitch.

 

Lardo “does it matter?”

 

Holster shrugs.

 

“He was Jack’s rebound. Jack just wanted Shits,” she clarifies. “I tried really hard not to let it get to me.”

 

Ransom nudges her reassuringly. “And then what?”

 

“And then one day I woke up alone in my own bed.” The words sound like an autopsy or a memoir, or maybe both. “I went to make breakfast and there they were. It was like I didn’t even exist.”

 

Adam frowns. “Lards—”

 

“But it’s fine, right? They finally have each other. They’re happy. And Bitty’s happy. And even Parse is pretty fucking happy.”

 

“And you?” Ransom and Holster chorus.

 

“I moved my shit into a storage unit. Spent a week with my parents. Bummed it in Bushwick with a few friends. Earned some money, and came down here.”

 

“What about your job?” Holster

 

“Budget cuts a year ago,” she closes her eyes. “I got fired.”

 

Ransom balks. “How have—”

 

“Waitressing mostly,” she shrugs as if it were that simple. Maybe it is. It’s her life, after all. “Shits and Jack were covering everything I couldn’t.”

 

Ransom doesn’t know what to day. By the furrowing of his eyebrows, Holster doesn’t either.

 

“It was ok at first,” she continues. “Because they love me, right? It’s ok if they pick up the tab for a while because we’re in this together.”

 

Lardo clears her throat, fighting back tears. “I didn’t care if they were together, and I was just with Shitty. I cared that Shitty just didn’t have the heart to dump me the minute Jack was all his.”

 

Lardo starts sobbing again. Adam and Justin wrap around her easily. They shield her from the pain, the world, everything. They squeeze back when she grips onto them for dear life.

 

The delivery guy calls forty minutes later. Ransom goes for it while Holster coaxes Lardo out of bed. They’re yelling at a Chopped rerun well he comes back. Holster passes Lardo the remote. She doesn’t know her way around their new entertainment system, so she quietly asks about Netflix.

 

They’re watching the pilot of 30 Rock. As if they haven’t seen it six times together before. It’s the same old routine, the same breakup cure. The same punchlines and gags that cause them to laugh (and in Lardo’s case, laugh until she cries). They’re good tears, she promises. She always promises things are better than they seem. She always keeps a part of herself on reserve. It’s the same old plot to a song they’ve been singing for his entire life.

 

But everything feels different.

 

Maybe it’s not overtly apparent to anyone but him. It’s in the way she sits upright until her necks so strained that she’s forced to relax in the couch. It’s in the way Holster’s arm stretches across the back of the couch—his arm faintly caressing Larissa’s neck and Justin’s shoulder. It’s in the way Justin settles his head on top of Larissa’s and thinks ‘weren’t we here just yesterday?’

 

They shift and adjust accordingly. They draw closer at near glacial speeds. He doesn’t notice the way he’s found himself tangled in Adam’s arms and Larissa’s legs until he’s jerking awake. Justin’s eyes flicker to the screen saver on the television. It’s only eight. It feels like Larissa’s been here a lifetime. Something about that settles in his stomach warmer than he’s felt in a long time. He fights back a grin when he notices the twin drool stains on Holsters and Lardo’s shirts. He forgot what it felt like to be between them: how ‘swawesome it felt when Holster shrunk smaller than Ransom to save space and Lardo towered over them both.

 

The other two rouse form their slumber a few minutes later. Adam stretches out, yawning like a lion. Larissa’s eyes are owlish and disoriented. Her expression is baffled, but relieved when her eyes land on Justin. Maybe all of this is as weird for her as it is for him. Maybe she’s improvising. Maybe she woke up one day and realized her life had gone in a radically different direction than she expected. Her solution was Ransom and Holster. It didn’t make Justin feel like a second choice. In fact, quite the opposite.

 

He murmurs something about beers. She nods, averting her gaze. He follows her eyeline to where a painting hangs by the entryway. It’s something she painted their sophomore year. Jack had bought it back when they were all something. Justin doesn’t remember the steps that lead to them receiving it as a graduation present. All he knows is that it’s an abstract piece on displacement and longing. Something about knowing Lardo was out there, filling the world with all the colors of her soul—put Justin at ease more often than he’d like to admit.

 

They trudge their way to the kitchen. Holster mumbles something about taking a dump. Lardo snorts, a wry smirk gracing her lips. He can practically hear her chirping, “real charming, Holtz.”

 

Lardo makes some comment about wanting air, and maybe a smoke. Ransom obliges by showing her the patio. There are two lawn chairs Holster stole from the Haus their senior year. Bitty had pitched a fit for a solid ten minutes when he found out. Somehow, that made the experience rewarding for Justin. She takes the blue one to the right. Larissa always sits on the right. She’s left handed and enjoys mildly inconveniencing other people when her arm bumps against theirs.

 

Ransom remembers thinking it was something she did growing up because being touched starved is hard, but asking for help when people expect the world of you is harder. Justin wonders when she started believing the fuckers who were convinced she could handle everything. And yea, Larissa Duan can handle anything. That doesn’t mean she should have to handle _everything._

 

The air is crisp. Wind rushes by their ears as they stare quietly at the skyline. It’s no New York, Justin concedes. But Baltimore has its buildings, its noise, and its light pollution. He wonders what could’ve changed if they’d stay around Boston. If things between everyone else could’ve mender sooner, cleaner. He shakes his head. It wasn’t his job to fix people’s lives for them, at least not emotionally.

 

“I was in love with you y’know,” Lardo speaks up after some time.

 

Part of him knew that, _knows_ that. Part of Justin understands why them, why now. But still, he hesitates. “You were?”

 

She nods, eyes trained on the high rises ahead. “I was in love with all of you at one point or another.” She chuckles sardonically. “There was this fucked part of my mind that was like ‘they’re your boys, of course they’ll love you’.”

 

Justin bites his lip. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

 

“Because I was ‘the girl’ on the team,” she gestures at herself. “I got a lot of shit from other teams for being a puck bunny. I couldn’t prove them right. It seemed too good to be true when the five of us could just—exist together.”

 

Ransom takes a swig of his beer. In another world, another time, there was a part of him that felt the same. The part that saw how they paired off together as if it were the natural order of things. As if monogamy was the only option, and picking one out of five was the only way to preserve what they had. Like catching lighting in a bottle, it was impossible, but all too alluring. They built a life together in a rundown house in the suburbs of Massachusetts. They’d been each other’s everything. They were naïve to think that could’ve lasted.

 

Still…“why him?”

 

“Isn’t it obvious?” Her fingers twitch, gripping her bottle tightly.

 

Shitty had chosen her from the first day they met. If she’d loved them all but he was the only one who loved her back, then Shitty was her only option. Not that she cared back then.

 

“Do you regret it,” he dares to ask.

 

“Maybe right now,” Lardo admits. “It won’t matter in the morning.”

 

“What happens in the morning?”

 

“Figure of speech,” Lardo simplifies.

 

Ransom takes a long sip of his beer. He takes a chance. “D-do you still love us?”

 

Larissa sighs. Her legs fold into her torso. “Justin…”

 

“You don’t have to answer,” he holds up a hand to stop her from rambling or making excuses. “It would make talking about all this a lot easier.”

 

“Always,” she says a little too quietly, a little too firmly.

 

A gentle silence descends upon them. In the distance, he hears a car horn and the sound of an ambulance ripping through the streets. The smell of pot lofts through the air. He can barely make out the sound of the downstairs neighbor’s pregame playlist. It reminds him of being twenty and not knowing how to say “I love you” to people who were pushing him away.

 

“Justin,” Larissa says after a while.

 

He hums in askance, turning to face her.

 

“He’s not the bad guy,” she asserts more confidently than anything else she’s said all day. “I am.”

 

There’s part of Justin that wants his rage to spike up to a boiling point; who wants nothing more than to fly to Boston just to kick Shitty’s ass. But even if she was right, and it was her fault, he’d left his mark on her heart. She would never be the same person she was at eighteen, nineteen, or even twenty. In the grand scheme of things, that’s alright. If only it meant she didn’t have to scar and burn along the way.

 

“Maybe you both screwed up,” he concedes. “That doesn’t mean he had a right to pretend he was still in love with you.”

 

“‘I’ll always love you, I hope you’ll remember that’,” Lardo mocks Shitty’s voice with a finger over her lip to imitate his mustache.

 

“What did Jack say?”

 

“Nothing,” she purses her lips. “He just…looked at me. Like he couldn’t decide if he was sorry or not.”

 

“He probably is,” he takes another swig of his beer.

 

“Eventually,” she hums.

 

He stares at her quizzically. She huffs, never one to elaborate on things that didn’t matter to her.

 

“He lost Bits to Kent,” Lardo shrugs. “I don’t think he was that sorry that he was someone’s first choice. I know I wouldn’t be.”

 

“Did he really lose Bits to Parse?” He prods.

 

“I don’t know,” she runs a hand through her hair. “One minute it was Jack and Bitty. Then it was Jack, Bitty, and Kent. Then it was just Bitty and Kent. Jack never told me what happened.”

 

“Why?”

 

She stares at Justin like he’s grown a second head. “How should I know?”

 

“That doesn’t…” sound like Jack.

 

“I wish I could tell you what happened.” Her voice crack, “I wish there was a fucking timeline from graduation to now that could say ‘here’s when shit got shittier’. But I don’t, Justin.” She sniffles furiously. “I’m sorry ok? I never wanted a fucking fairy tale and then suddenly I had you guys in my life and I thought that was it.”

 

He knows. He felt it too. How he came into college with little expectations and left Frog year with too many. He remembers sleepovers and study dates and ankles wrapped around each other under tables. He remembers the first time he spent long enough in the crook of Holster’s arm to smell his deodorant wear off. He remembers the way Lardo’s fingers slid in between his seamlessly; especially when he had to study and the world was too loud, but Lardo’s touch was so quiet and calming. He remembers the way he begged for Shitty while his mouth roamed every inch of Justin’s body. He even remembers the way Jack’s frown lines would smooth away as he dove in for Ransom’s neck. The incomprehensible mumbles in French still ring in Justin’s ears. The murmurs and pleas that made up those three years thrum through his mind like a song he used to love. He feels a tear slide down his cheek.

 

 

“Maybe it’s not that simple,” he concludes, his voice dipping low.

 

“Nothing is,” she counters amicably.

 

“But,” Ransom emphasizes, “I think you came here for a reason.”

 

“I know,” she stares at him long and hard. She chugs the rest of her beer, anticipating the worst with bated breath.

 

“And I can’t promise you it’ll be exactly what you imagined,” he confesses. “But Lards, you never asked us.”

 

She stares at him, perplexed. He hears Adam open the screen door. It screeches as he closes it behind him.

 

“What am I asking, exactly?” Her voice shakes.

 

“If we love you,” Ransom annunciates each word perfectly, cautiously.

 

Larissa licks her lips, narrowing her gaze quizzically. “Do you love me?”

 

“Yeah,” Adam answers behind him. “We really fucking do.”

**Author's Note:**

> Fic title - from Drive by Oh Wonder 
> 
> ((I listened to this song and had this distinct image of Ransom and Lardo singing it in a car and I had to find out how they ended up there. Hence, this story.)) Btw, their ship name is Grand Larsony, tell your friends. 
> 
> I'm ship, poly trash and accept prompts. [Come say hi on Tumblr.](http://abominableobriens.tumblr.com)


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